J'oublie Mon Chagrin
by TrappedGenius
Summary: Blaine has been forced by his parents to take part in the French exchange for years, and every year it's been the same: Awful. However, when he is partnered up with French student Kurt Hummel, will this be the one year when everything changes? Title from La Complainte de la Butte by George Van Parys and Jean Renoir.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello and welcome to the first of maybe 10-ish parts of FrenchExchangeStudents!Klaine, because I just can't find any out there and yeah. This story is unbetad, so if you're interested, please message me. Thanks, and I hope you like it!**

* * *

"Now," Madame Prevett said in a thick French accent, walking up and down between the desks of Dalton Academy's French room. "The French exchange students will be arriving tomorrow, so all of you better be on your best behaviour and make them feel welcome - Monsieur Montgomery, would you kindly refrain from passing notes to Monsieur Peterson in my lesson? Merci."

Wes quickly crumpled up the piece of paper in his hand, stuffing it into his pencil case with a rueful grin. "Sorry, Madame Prevett."

"As I was saying," she continued. "I have here a list of your partners, so please BE QUIET!" she raised her voice, looking pointedly at Wes again, who had now decided to lean across the row to talk not so quietly to Mitchell. "Anyway. Here we go..."

"Blaine Anderson with Kurt Hummel!"

"Hummel?" Wes whispered to Blaine. "That doesn't sound very French, if you ask me, it sounds German-"

Madame Prevett stopped reading, slamming a textbook on Wes's desk. "If I have to talk to you one more time..." she threatened.

He smiled weakly. "Got it."

"Now, where was I? Carl Andrews, Joel Leroy!"

Blaine slumped back down onto his desk. It wasn't that he was dreading the French exchange, per se, he just wasn't looking forward to it too much. Last year, he ended up with a homophobic idiot, which was not a pleasant experience at all. What if it happened again?

He spent the first fifteen years of his life living with his parents every day, so he supposed he was used to it. Although his parents were very clear with their current opinions on him, they still paid for the exchange every year. Blaine had tried to explain to them that he didn't actually want to go, but they were insistent, going on about 'what a great experience it was!'

It wasn't great at all. It was mainly awkward, especially if the other person didn't speak very good English-

"Blaine!" Wes hissed to him. "Blaine!"

Snapped out of his thoughts, he turned to Wes. "What?" he whispered back.

"Emergency Warblers practice tonight, my friend," the boy told him. "Just in case Kurt Humlich turns out to be hot and you're occupied tomorrow."

He was saved from replying by Madame Prevett, who told Wes that if he said another word for the rest of the lesson, she would 'change the lock on his door and not give him the key for a week'.

"Ah, but Madame Prevett, where would my poor French friend sleep?" was the reply that got him sent out of the room.

For someone who acted so collected and proper during Warblers meetings, Wes really was an idiot.

* * *

Later, at lunch, Blaine was sitting with the rest of the Warblers, who were all chatting earnestly. He stabbed a piece of pasta with his fork. Right now, he didn't really feel like joining in with their conversation - which was about the French exchange.

"Last year the guy I was with was literally the size of a house. Honestly. Every time I looked at him, I just kept thinking how easily it would be for him to crush me," Nick said through a mouthful of pizza.

Suddenly Wes bounded up to them, grinning.

"I thought you were in detention with Prevett?" someone said as he sat down.

"Got out early," the boy said in reply. "Also, I found this!" He pulled a plastic wallet out of his satchel, dumping it on the table. The rest of the table stared at him, confused. "Well, I stole it." The blank looks continued. "It's the pictures of the French exchanges!"

Blaine hung back as the rest of them grabbed at it, pulling it open so the folder spilled its contents.

Jeff giggled as he saw the photo of his partner, Jean-Claude Andre. "He's cute!"

Elbowing, Nick scowled. "Let me see that!" Grabbing the sheet, his frown disappeared. "Oh, I guess he is... Oh look, Blaine, isn't that your guy?"

Blaine shrugged without looking up. He really wasn't interested in what the guy looked like, or anything to do with the exchange.

"Look," Nick said earnestly, shoving the piece of paper under Blaine's nose.

Muttering for a second, he stopped still. This Kurt Hummel was kind of cute, maybe. Okay, well a bit more than 'cute', and a bit more than 'maybe'. He pushed those thoughts away. This guy was probably a raging homophobe that spoke no English beyond 'Hello', what was he thinking?

So Blaine made a noise that he hoped sounded indifferent.

"Don't tell me you don't think he's gorgeous!" Nick laughed. "Seriously, that is one _fine _boy..." he trailed off, noticing the way Jeff was looking at him. "I mean, he's nothing like my amazingly attractive boyfriend of course," he finished hastily.

He tuned out as Nick went into damage control. Yes, Kurt Hummel was cute. So? It didn't mean anything. Plenty of guys were cute... And most of them were straight. Nothing was going to come out of it. It was the French exchange, and nothing good ever came out of the French exchange for Blaine. It sounded cynical, but really, he was just preparing himself for how crappy the next two weeks were going to be.

The bell rang, startling him out of his thoughts. "See you in English!" Wes called to him as he slung his bag over his shoulder. He was just about to walk away when something caught his eye on the now empty lunch table. Walking back towards it, he realised it was the pictures for the exchange. Kurt Hummel stared up at him, and quickly, before he could change his mind, he stuffed the piece of paper into his bag, walking to Latin.

Later that evening, the boys were sitting in Warblers rehearsal, talking earnestly about the exchange. Technically, they should be choosing a song for Sectionals. Blaine was the only one who was doing so, while the rest of the Warblers lounged on the couches, chatting and laughing.

"Why are you moping?" Wes called out to him. "And what's that?" He walked over, peering at the sheet music in Blaine's hands. "Come on, Blaine. We don't need to choose songs until next week."

"Sorry for wanting to actually achieve something in this 'emergency practice'," he snapped back, pushing the stack of music aside.

"Well, we all know you're against the exchange," Wes raised an eyebrow at his tone. "But at least come and sit with us."

"What for?" he sighed. "You know I don't want to talk about it. I really don't understand why everyone's so obsessed with it anyway."

Wes laughed. "Because it's fun! Sit with us. Please."

He huffed, standing up and walking with Wes to the other couch where the Warblers were either sitting or standing around. "Here he is!" Nick grinned as he joined them. "Blaine's lucky, guys. His partner is gorgeous! Wes, show them the picture."

Digging around his bag, he suddenly realised he left the picture in the cafeteria. "I left it on the table," he glanced at Blaine, who was looking thoroughly miserable. "So, umm, about those songs-"

Everyone groaned simultaneously, excluding Blaine. "Please, don't go there, Wes," David groaned. "Can't we have one night off?"

"Sectionals is in less than two weeks," Wes said quickly, before Nick could start talking about how attractive the exchange students were again. "We do need to, well, prepare. And work out the harmonies and everything. Plus, the French students will be here next week, which is our last rehearsal before Sectionals, so we really do need to decide now."

Everyone was silent.

"Uh, Wes?" Nick said tentatively.

"What now, Nick?"

"Well, it's just... You said that Sectionals was in three weeks. All the teachers think it's in three weeks," he explained.

He shook his head. "No, it's in two. Like I just said. It's always been in two weeks.

"Well, everyone thinks it's in three..."

Swearing softly, Wes went over to the desk and picked up his planner. "No, it's definitely two. See?" he pointed at the date.

"Oh. Then what will we do with the French students?"

"Well, they can watch," Wes told Nick, sounding unsure.

"What if there's no tickets left?"

"There will be."

"Yes, but what if there isn't-"

Wes extracted his gavel from his pocket. "Don't make me use this," he warned the boy.

"Do you just carry that around with you?" Seeing how Wes looked at him, Nick mumbled an apology and then stayed quiet.

"As I was saying... We narrowed it down to Hey Soul Sister, Teenage Dream and She Will Be Loved..."

* * *

It was a long, busy practice - which would have been much shorter if the first half an hour had not been spent talking about the exchange - and it didn't finish until almost 9, meaning the boys had approximately two minutes before they had to be in their rooms.

Blaine hurried up the stairs, unlocking his dorm room swiftly and closing the door behind him. He was the only student at Dalton who had a single room, due to him transferring halfway through his freshman year. That meant that Kurt Hummel would sleep on the bed across from his that had never been slept on, rather than an inflatable mattress on the floor. Lucky him.

He sat down to do his homework, but found himself unable to concentrate. He was too busy worrying about tomorrow. And trying not to think about that picture of Kurt Hummel in his bag and how his _eyes_-

Right, not thinking about that. Not at all.

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair, too tired to wash out his gel, but not really wanting to sleep. He staggered into his bathroom. The time on the clock now read 10:09; he'd spent over an hour just thinking.

Blaine turned on the tap, running his wet hands through his hair. He really should start weaning off the gel, he thought absentmindedly, yanking locks of his hair apart. This really couldn't be healthy.

Once everything was looking decidedly less flat, he stumbled back into his room, yawning as he fell into bed. Sheer exhaustion overtook his unwillingness to sleep quickly, and he was dreaming in minutes. After all, it had been a long day. Little did he know that the next two weeks were going to be the longest of his life...

* * *

**Next chapter should be up within a couple of weeks, but I do have several other WIPs to write. I was going to wait until I finished at least one to post this, but I got too excited.**

**TG**

**P.S. The title means 'And so I Forget my Sorrow', which is from - well, all will be revealed later on in the story!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm so sorry for the ridiculous wait! It will never happen again! Actually that's a lie because I'm starting a massive project-y thing in January, and if any of you follow my other stories you'll know how rubbish I am at updating regularly. Sorry. You'll get used to it;)**

**I don't own Glee. Thank God - right now I don't really want it. **

**Reviews appreciated!**

* * *

Blaine awoke with a groan, rolling over and seeing the time was only 6. He fumbled for the snooze button, freezing when he remembered why his alarm was going off so early.

The French exchange students were coming today.

Maybe he could go back to sleep and pretend to be ill? Though that wouldn't solve anything... and Wes was bound to knock on his door any minute now-

"Blaine!" Wes shouted from the corridor, banging on the surface of the door. "Get up, we're going to be late!"

Pulling himself up, he rubbed his eyes. "How are we going to be late, it's only 6 and the French students aren't arriving until 9!" he replied, turning off his alarm and walking into the cramped en suite.

Of course his hair would be untameable today. He knew that there was absolutely no point gelling it unless he wanted to physically plaster it to his head, so instead stepped into the shower, feeling relieved when the water falling drowned out Wes's voice.

Five minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, a towel around his waist and his hair dripping onto the floor. "What the hell?"

Wes was sitting on his bed, already dressed and looking at him impatiently. "What?"

"How the hell did you get in here?" Blaine asked him. "No, I don't want to know. Why are you here?"

Grinning at him in the way that made Blaine sure today was going to be a disaster, Wes started bouncing up and down on his bed. "I knew you'd be moping today, so I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to lie in bed all day."

"Well, I'm not," Blaine told him, going back into his bathroom to get dried. "So goodbye."

"Wait-" Blaine shuts the door in his face, and Wes sits back down with a sigh. Seconds later, the door reopens.

"Sorry, I'm being an idiot," says Blaine, cheeks flaming and staring down at the floor. "It's just... You know how much I hate the exchange, and I really don't want it to be like last year."

Wes's expression softens slightly, and he stands up to pat his friend on the shoulder. "I know, man. But come on! I'm not even gay, and your guy is _hot._"

And at that Blaine has to smile a bit.

* * *

Two hours later, Blaine was freaking out. The exchange students had been delayed, apparently, because of a missed train or something, but were due to arrive any minute now. And he was terrified of what Kurt Hummel was going to be like. Maybe if it was that bad, he could move into someone else's room? It wasn't likely, but the thought comforted him a bit.

And then the coach was pulling up into the parking lot, and stopping, and they were all getting off, and he couldn't see anyone who looked like the guy in that photo he definitely did NOT still have-

"Dude, calm down. You look petrified," said David who had suddenly appeared next to him. "Relax, okay? This school isn't the same as last year's, it'll be fine."

Okay. Breathe.

"Alright, boys, settle down!" Madam Prevett called. "Now, remember, only a couple of the students speak fluent English. McKinley High, as it would translate, is a prestigious school, however, and the majority of the pupils speak better English than most of you do French." Her gaze fixed on Wes, who dropped his gaze and started shuffling his feet.

"Just - remember we have a reputation to uphold," the teacher told them, "And try not to scare anyone too much."

The teachers from the French school approached them. One of them walked over to Madam Prevett. The two began to talk in rapid French, before the teacher from McKinley started to speak to them.

"Okay," the guy said, sounding very American and not at all French. "Yes, I'm American. My name is Mr Schuester, and this is Miss Pillsbury and Miss Sylvester." He gestured to the two, a redhead with large eyes and a smile, and a woman with short, blonde hair who looked kind of scary.

"Thank you, William." The scary looking woman interrupted them."Now, I want to make it very clear to you that you do not address me. You do not talk to me once, none of you even look at me. Figgins forced me to go on this trip, and I passed up an interview with an extremely popular magazine that I can't even mention for legal reasons to go to your school, which I believe is a real life Hogwarts with more hair gel-"

"Sue!" Mr Schuester hissed, effectively cutting off the woman's, uh, speech. "Yes, well, we're very happy to be here."

He stepped back and started talking to the smiling teacher, while Madame Prevett stepped forward. "Monsieur Schuester and I have decided the best way to introduce you all to your partner is to call out your names. You will then go straight to your dorm and help your partner unpack - _no exceptions. _Artie Antoine avec Nick Duval!" A boy in a wheelchair wheeled up to Nick, and the two started chatting almost instantly.

This continued for a couple more students. Blaine was waiting anxiously for her to reach 'H', still not seeing Kurt Hummel anywhere.

And then...

"Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson!" He froze, forcing himself to walk out from the group.

And there he was.

Kurt Hummel.

He had obviously been in the back of his group, otherwise Blaine would've seen him. Because... Wow. He was sort of ridiculously good looking. The photo didn't even do him justice.

The two met in the middle, and Madame Prevett started calling out more names. Blaine stuck out his hand. "Hey. I'm-"

"Blaine Anderson?" Kurt finished, only a hint of a French accent detectable. "I guessed as much." They shook hands, and started walking into Dalton.

The whole time, Blaine was worrying if he should say something. What? He didn't want it to be awkward for the next two weeks, but what could he possibly say-

"By the way," Kurt spoke up conversationally. "I'm gay. And if that disgusts you, I'm sure you can swap partners or something." He says it as if it's not a big deal, as if he's treated this way all the time, and it makes Blaine's chest ache.

"No!" he says quickly. "No, of course not. Me too. I mean, I'm gay too," he said lamely, blushing.

"Oh." Kurt smiles at him then, a toothless grin that lights up his eyes. "Good. I didn't want to end up with a homophobe, that happened last year-"

"That happened to me too!" Blaine said. "But don't worry, all the guys here are really cool and none of them care about sexuality or anything."

Kurt stops. "Really?"

Blaine nods.

Kurt's quiet for a moment, then murmurs a quiet "Wow." Clearing his throat, he speaks up. "I mean, I never thought I'd - most of my school is homophobic, and it sucks." his voice is sad, heartbreakingly so, and Blaine reaches out to squeeze his hand.

"I've been there," he tells Kurt sympathetically. "I know." He lets go of Kurt's hand, and suddenly really wants to change the subject. "By the way, your English is really good."

"That's because I was born over here," Kurt explains as they start to walk again. "I lived here until I was eight, then moved over to France."

"Why?" Blaine asks before he can stop himself, and Kurt stiffens.

"I - my mom died."

Cursing himself, Blaine fumbles for words. "Oh, I - wow. Sorry."

Kurt shrugs. "It's okay. It was eight years ago now, I'm fine."

But he doesn't look fine. Not at all.

Blaine turned away. It was a bit too early for telling their life stories, after all.

* * *

When they reached Blaine's dorm, he fumbled with the key for half a minute before finally opening the door. "Here we go!" he said awkwardly, pushing open the door. "You're lucky I have a single dorm, the other guys will have to sleep on air mattresses."

Kurt chuckled a little, stepping in after Blaine. "Whoa," he smiled, looking at the posters that adorned the wall. "Fellow musical theatre nerd!"

"What?" Blaine glanced up. "Oh, yeah." He grabs Kurt's bags, putting them on the spare bed and starting to unpack them.

"Oh, you don't have to do that-"

Blaine waves him off. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

They stay in silence for a while, Blaine unpacking Kurt's bags and Kurt looking around the room. "What's this?" the latter asked.

"Huh?" Blaine looked up. "Oh, that. It's a certificate from this singing thing the glee club did."

Kurt turned to him, smiling. "You sing."

He shrugged, acting as if it wasn't a big deal. "Umm, yeah. A bit..."

"So you won't mind me singing in the shower, then?" Kurt teased.

"No," Blaine said too quickly. "No, you'll have to put up with me singing if you come to Warblers rehearsal. You're more than welcome to, if you want..."

"Sounds great." Kurt walked away from the wall, starting to unpack his other bag. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he started to chuckle quietly.

"What?" Blaine asked.

"Nothing," Kurt told him, still grinning. "I'm just... Really glad I can talk to you, Blaine."

Blaine wants to remember forever the way his name sounds coming out of Kurt's mouth, the way the boy seems to hold on to the sound for a second too long before releasing it. He wants to tell him how beautiful he is, and how beautiful he sounds, but he doesn't.

"I'm glad I can talk to you too, Kurt."

* * *

**Welp, that was short. Sorry. It was a bit of a filler, I guess? I don't know, I just really needed them to meet and all so the story could actually start.**

**I probably won't update before the holidays, so Merry Christmas! If you celebrate it, of course.**

**TG**


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